Once I convinced them I needed rest, stating I was exhausted but wanted to see Cam, they brought her in and reassured me they’d be right across the hallway.
At first, she wouldn’t look at me. Cam cast her gaze at the room floor. “I’m so relieved, Cynth. You have no idea how worried I—”
“What happened?”
She looked at me then. And I could see it in her eyes. Guilt. She moved closer and took a deep breath, bracing herself. “You were so distraught,” she said. “I tried to get you to leave with us…”
“Who is us?” I demanded. I still wasn’t sure why I felt so hostile toward her.
She crossed her arms, defensive. “Torrance. The bartender. Remember? You told me to go home with him. I mean, you practically pimped me out to him.”
I rested my head against the pillow. “I don’t remember, Cam. Shit, I don’t remember anything about that night.”
The expression on her face morphed. It was completely out of place, but for some strange reason, one of Drew’s lectures came back to me. The one where he discussed perception. How there was no way to prove alternate dimensions existed, but that there were alternate worlds, if only because of perception. Seven billion different alternate worlds, to be exact. Because there were seven billion people, all seeing the world through their own eyes.
Cam stared at me through the lens of how she viewed me in her world.
I was some possible complication to her life had I been able to remember. I knew this, because the sudden relief that washed over her face revealed that truth.
She stepped closer and rested her hand on my arm, ignoring the tubes, the tape. The bruises and cuts. “Cynthia, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. We got drunk. We were both so wasted. I tried to get you to leave with me, but you were obstinate—you wanted to stay. Nothing I said convinced you otherwise. So I got you an Uber. I knew your ride was only minutes away. I don’t know what happened.”
Her answer felt wrong; it felt rehearsed. I’m sure she’d given Detective Dutton this story over and over. But I was her friend. I had been attacked and left for dead. I had died. Dumped like garbage in a lake.
A blurry image crept over me. The first glimpse of him reaching toward me through the shimmering ripples…
I sealed my eyes closed.
“What was I so angry about, then?” I asked, forcing my eyes open and the image away. “What did I do…what did I say? Tell me, Cam.”
Nervously, she glanced toward the door. Then: “Don’t you remember?”
Looking to the one window in my room, I fought hard to keep the tears of frustration from filling my eyes, but I was frightened. Someone had tried to kill me—that fact was finally sinking in. Up until that moment it felt too surreal, too foreign, to be true.
“How did this happen to me?” My words stuttered out on a weak, shaky breath.
Cam removed her hand from my forearm and clasped my fingers. “You were so upset, Cynth. It scared me,” she said, and I swung my gaze to meet hers. “You were still so upset over Drew and Chelsea, and the baby…” She raised her eyebrows.
I gripped her hand tighter. “Was Drew there?”
Her features fell. “No, he wasn’t, but…” She trailed off, swallowed.
“What, Cam?”
A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “It’s my fault. God, I shouldn’t have left you. It’s all my fault.”
“It’s not your fault.” I tried to console her.
She shook her head. “Yes, it is. I can’t do this. I have to go.”
Cam swiped hard at the tears trailing her cheeks before she turned away, heading toward the door.
“He has to pay…”
Her words floated to my ears, a muffled whisper choked by her sobs.
13
Ghosts